“Quick, quick,” said the duchess, showing by her earnestness that she knew the person by this manner of knocking; and with a vivacity which Marisalada had never given her credit for, she rose to get away before the visitor could enter.
Maria was more astonished at the sight of the new personage. She was an ugly woman, at least fifty years old, and of common aspect. Her clothes were as coarse as strange. The duchess received her with the greatest mark of consideration and cordiality, the more remarkable when contrasted with the icy reserve which she always observed towards the mistress of song. The duchess took the old woman by the hand, and presented her to the bishop. Marisalada knew not what to think. She had never seen such a costume, never had she met a person in a position less in harmony with the people of distinction where she was received.
After a quarter of an hour’s animated conversation the old woman rose. It rained. The marquis insisted that she accept his carriage; but the marchioness said to him—
“My father, I will order mine.”
So saying, she approached the new arrival, who took leave, and obstinately refused to use a carriage.
“Come, my child,” said the duchess to her daughter, “come, with the permission of your mistress, and salute the good friend.”
Maria could not believe what she saw and heard. The child embraced her whom her mother had called her good friend.
“Who is this woman?” Marisalada asked of the child when she came to her.
“She is a sister of charity,” replied the child.
Marisalada was annihilated. Her pride, which rose in array against all superiority which defied the dignity of the nobility, the rivalry of artists, the power of authority, and even all the prerogatives of genius, to bend before the grandeur and elevation of virtue!